Solve Mysteries With Hercule Yakko!
by The Illustrious Crackpot
Summary: A collection of pointlessly bizarre oneshots of mysteries you can quoteunquote Solve Along With Yakko. Idea from a Woody Allen book.
1. Death of a Psychiatrist

_A/N: I apologize to fans of "Fairly Zany Tales", but I've been battling massive writer's block coupled with general disinterest. This series, though, I'm SURE to continue, since a) each bit is only a few pages long and b) I've already got ten of these ready to post. I also accept idea submissions._

_ALSO: The idea for this was stolen fro—er, ADAPTED from a bit in some of Woody Allen's books called "Match Wits With Inspector Ford", which involved pointlessly bizarre mysteries with even more inexplicably ridiculous solutions._

_Without further ado..._

**Solve Mysteries With Hercule Yakko!**

(a collection of oneshots by The Illustrious Crackpot)

**The Death of a P-sychiatrist**

Inside the Watertower, the phone suddenly began to ring. This was not a particularly good thing, as immediately all three Warners jumped up from whatever they were doing—Yakko abandoning a Marx Brothers movie, Wakko leaping out of the refrigerator, and Dot dropping a teen glamour magazine—with a shout of "I'LL GET IT!!!" After an amazing and highly complicated cartoon tussle which shall not be described, Dot managed to sneak out from the brawl (although covered from head to toe in cheese whip) and snatched up the receiver.

"Hello, Dot's hair salon for gals, please hold," she recited, filing her nails even though they were still covered by her white cartoon gloves. Then she suddenly cocked her head, making her stubby ears flop to the side. "What? Huh. Mm-hmm. Oooooh, sounds painful. Yes...yes...I think so...yes...yes...hold on a minute." Dot lifted up one furry foot and held it up, peering at the bottom, then put her foot back on the floor. "Three and a half. Thanks, I try to keep a slim figure. Uhm-hum. Yeah-huh. Really? What's the recipe? Ohhhhh...okay. Gee. Yup. Ah. Yyyyyyyeah. Bye-bye." She hung up the phone, then turned to her brothers, who were still wrestling in a cloud of dust. Dot raised an eyebrow at the reader, muttered "Boys", then taking in a deep breath, she screamed, "HOLD ITTTTTTT!!!"

Immediately Yakko and Wakko paused, Yakko in the midst of painfully tugging on one of his own ears and Wakko gnawing on his own leg. Both paused, also mysteriously doused with cheese whip, and let go of their body parts. "I was _wonderin_' why that hurt," Wakko mumbled, spitting out black fur and wiping his mouth.

"Wha_th_zzup, _th_sis?" Yakko asked garbledly, then with an astonished air he opened his mouth, stuck in a hand and removed a toy taxicab that had somehow gotten in there during the fight. Clearing his throat (and also pausing to remove a box of tissues from his belt loop), he tried again in his usual snappy manner. "What is it, oh sister dear?"

"Yakko! Wakko!" Dot cried in dismay. "Scratchy's been murdered!" Having proclaimed this, she burst into tears. "Now we can't _annoy_ him anymore!"

"Scratchy's been _murdered?_" Yakko repeated disbelievingly, then stood straight up and thumped a fist on his furry chest. "This sounds like a job for HERCULE YAKKO!"

Yakko spun around once at an incredibly high speed, then stopped, suddenly dressed in a Grecian toga and with a giant sword in one hand and a shield in the other. He looked down at himself, then arched his eyebrows at the author. "I thought you said that spell-checker was fixed," he remarked pointedly, though still grinning.

"Sorry," the author apologized, and in no time at all Yakko was clad in a long brown coat with a matching bowler hat and a monocle for his right eye.

"Thaaaaaaanks," the eldest Warner drawled impishly, then with a sweeping motion of his hand he led into the next scene.

"Hercule Yakko!" cried one of the police officers inside Dr. Scratchansniff's office as Yakko walked in. At the sound, Yakko jumped.

"Where?" he gasped.

The Chief of Police hurried over to him, shaking Yakko's hand vigorously. "Oh, we're _so_ glad you're here, Monsieur Yakko!" he cried with relief. He gestured at the psychiatrist's office around him. "This case is nigh impossible! There's not a clue anywhere!"

"Aaaaaaaaah...lemme see," Yakko decided, extricating his hand from the man's grip and whipping out a magnifying glass. He made a thorough search of the office, inspecting thoroughly every painting, every crack in the wood, the body of Dr. Scratchansniff (M'wah! G'night, everybody!), the contents of Scratchy's wallet, and _especially_ Hello Nurse. Once the master detective was done looking, however, he dusted off his hands and stood before the Chief of Police.

"Mr. Chief of Police—can I call you Chiefy?—I'm sure you can see that this is an open-and-shut case. And please _shut_ it, for crying out loud, there's a _terrible_ draft!" Yakko coughed before continuing. "Chiefy, it's quite clear that the murderer of Dr. Scratchansniff was none other than the Warner Brothers C.E.O., Mr. Plotz!"

_How did Hercule Yakko know that the murderer was Mr. Plotz?_

Dr. Scratchansniff wasn't actually dead. He'd just passed out after seeing his month's paycheck. Yakko just wanted to bug Plotzy by getting him arrested.


	2. The Silence of the Hams

**The Silence of the Hams**

Early morning in the Watertower. The bedroom was empty, save for a triple-decker bunk bed with two white feet peeping out from under the covers on the lowest bunk. Then, without a word, Yakko (the owner of the feet, though he'd gotten 'em secondhand from a little old lady who only used them to go grocery shopping) suddenly flipped out of bed, doing a triple somersault in midair before landing on his palms on the floor, completely erect in a handstand.

"Don't knock it 'till you've tried it," he informed the reader, grinning slyly, then bounded to his feet and sauntered casually out of the room.

Yakko entered the kitchen fully dressed for once, wearing a long brown coat, his usual pants, a bowler hat and a monocle. He yawned, then murmured a "G'morning, sibs," to Wakko, who was scarfing down his breakfast, and to Dot, who was listening to the daily gossip on the radio with her face smushed against the speakers. "Gee, I'm hungry."

(Behind his back, Yakko hoisted a sign that read "Plot Exposition".)

"Oh, Hercule Yakko," Dot suddenly commented, looking up from the radio just as her brother was approaching the refrigerator, "there's no more—"

"No more eggs, I know," Hercule Yakko broke in just as he opened the refrigerator door. "Gee, if they wanted to know whether the chicken or the egg came first, in this place it's _neither!_"

_How did Hercule Yakko know that there weren't any more eggs?_

It was easy to tell that Wakko had used up all the eggs; he was eating a pickle-and-jelly sandwich on rye bread, which everyone knows is the proper chaser for half a dozen omelettes.


	3. Farewell, My Paycheck

**Farewell, My Paycheck**

One afternoon in the Warner Brothers executive offices, Mr. Plotz sat humming at his desk. (Don't think the old tightwad's gone soft—the tune he was humming was "Weasel Stomping Day" by "Weird Al" Yankovic.) Everything had been going well; he'd made a giant movie contract with some obscure directors, he hadn't seen the Warner kids all day, and he'd even managed to make that annoying Steven Spielberg guy go away by giving him a two-bit animation project. It was just the sort of day you'd want to end by looking at your piles of immeasurable wealth, assuming you had any. And since Mr. Plotz _did_, he stood up from his seat and walked over to the wall, carefully removing from it a dartboard featuring Mickey Mouse and revealing a safe stuck inside the wall. Putting the dartboard to the side, Mr. Plotz reached for the combination lock and spun it around three times. When he heard a reassuring _clunk_, the CEO rubbed his hands together expectantly and swung the safe door open—

—to find nothing whatsoever.

"OH NO!!!!" he cried, tearing at his sparse white hair as his eyes began to spin. "I'VE BEEN ROBBED! THERE WAS OVER HALF A MILLION DOLLARS IN THIS SAFE!" Mr. Plotz sank to his knees, banging his fists on the floor. "IS THERE NO ONE WHO CAN GET MY _MONEY_ BACK?"

Unexpectedly, the Mr. Plotz's desk drawer sprang open and the Warners popped out. Dot and Wakko were both in their normal outfits, but Yakko was wearing a long brown coat, a bowler hat and a monocle. "You rang, Plotzy?" the three chorused, all leaping into the distressed CEO's lap and wrapping their arms around his neck.

"What are you doing here?!" Mr. Plotz cried, struggling to get out of their hold. Yakko jumped into the air, extending his pointer finger to the sky and posing quite impressively.

"I am HERCULE YAKKO!" he announced. "The greatest detective in the world!" Then Yakko leaned down slyly by Mr. Plotz's ear. "And I work cheap, too." Straightening, Yakko rubbed his chin and glanced around the office nonchalantly. "I heard there was a robbery?"

"Oh, Yakko," Mr. Plotz pleaded, falling to his knees again and tugging on Yakko's coat, "I need my money! Oh, how I need my money...I'll—I'll pay you triple your rates for it!"

Yakko raised an eyebrow, then jerked his thumb at the CEO. "I just _love_ this guy's logic," he remarked, then patted Mr. Plotz condescendingly on the head. "Aaaaah...don't worry, Plotzy, Hercule Yakko is on the case." Standing up again, Yakko pointed strikingly at each of his siblings. "Dot, you dust the safe. And get to the rest of the room while you're at it—this place is a _mess_. Wakko, you investigate the alibis."

"Awwwwwww," Wakko moaned, hanging his head. "I wanted to investigate the fridge."

There was a pause as the eldest Warner mock-considered this, tilting his head to the side and grinning mischievously. "Well, that fridge _is_ looking _migh-ty_ suspicious..."

With that, all the Warner siblings zipped to their respective tasks, resulting in various scenes of cartoon chaos that the author doesn't feel like describing. At length, however, all three of them returned to the middle of the room, conferred in a football huddle, hiked a few times and then turned back to Mr. Plotz.

"Plotzy," Yakko informed the CEO solemnly, his face completely deadpan, "I'm sorry to say that your money will never be recovered. It's as good as gone."

_How did Hercule Yakko know this?_

The Warners themselves stole the money while Mr. Plotz was out getting a cup of coffee. That's why they were hiding in the desk drawer, silly.


	4. CasaLaba

**CasaLaba**

"Zhis is a very seriousz problem," Dr. Scratchansniff was saying as he led the Warner siblings into the laboratory. Scientists were milling around everywhere, exchanging notes with each other, various police officers, and colleagues who also hadn't studied for their math test. The normally orderly lab was a terrible wreck, with tables and chairs all banged-up and crumpled, several holes gaping in the walls and ceiling and debris scattered everywhere.

"_I'll_ say," Dot agreed, looking around the room in disdain. "These guys really need a new interior decorator!"

The Doctor looked up in surprise. "Vhat? Ohhhh, zhe _room_...no, no, zhat's becausze of zhe police invesztigation. Zhey park zhose helicoptersz und zhose police carsz zso _messzily_. Zhe problem isz over _here!_"

He led them over to a slightly less-wrecked table and motioned at the apparatus sitting on it. It looked like a Cuisinart with two socks tied on to either side and the nozzle of a garden hose stuck on top. "Oooooh, _modern art!_" Yakko cried mock-excitedly, wearing his Hercule Yakko getup (you know the drill by now). "It means—now, don't tell me, lemme guess, it's—" He covered his eyes with his hands. "It's the tortured agony of the cheeseless spirit! No, wait, it's a social comment on hippos! No, hold on, it's comin' to me, it's comin'—"

"Shtop zhat, Yakko!" Scratchy snapped, and Yakko actually obeyed, albeit with a sly grin still on his face. "Zhey found zhat in zhe lab zhis morning, und—VAKKO! CUT ZHAT OUT!"

Begrudgingly, Wakko put the _non_-modern-art down, untied the napkin from around his neck and stuck his fork and knife back inside his body-pocket. "But I'm hungryyyyyyy!" he whined.

("Hey! Vakko's _my_ character!" protested WakkoRyan, but dropped the charges since he was given this quick cameo.)

"Now," continued the Doctor, gesturing to the contraption, "zhis vas found in zhe laboratory zhis morningk. All uff zhe scientistsz svear zhat zhey do not recognize it und zhat it vas not zhere last night, und zhe security guard, Ralph, said zhat no one came in or out uff zhe lab, besidesz zhis morning, since closzing time last night. However, it szeems to be very dangerousz, as zhe last pehrszon who touched it ended up thinkingk zhat he vas a tuurnip."

Yakko blinked at him. "You know, your accent must be blowing up some poor kid's spellchecker right now," he remarked.

Scratchy ignored him, for the most part. "Ve haff called you here, ehrm, 'Hercule Yakko', becausze you are zhe greatest detective in zhe world." The Doctor paused, then, the lenses of his thick glasses flashing, he suddenly whipped out a notebook and plopped Hercule Yakko on his back on the table. "Szo," Dr. Scratchansniff began again, scribbling something down, "how long haff you had zhese deluszionsz uff grandeur, Yakko?"

Dot popped up behind Scratchansniff, suddenly wearing a pair of fake glasses, a fake white mustache and a lab coat identical to the Doctor's. "I theenk he'sz CRAAAAAAASZY, Docteur," she remarked in an elaborate accent, twirling her finger in a circle beside her left temple. "What theenk you, Docteur Vakko?"

(WakkoRyan was going to make another comment, but, by coincidence, an anvil fell out of the sky and stopped him.)

Wakko then popped up next to his sister, also enclosed in a lab coat but having on his face a pair of Groucho Marx glasses (for those uncultured in the finer areas of comedy, those plastic glasses with the fake eyebrows, nose and mustache). "I disagree," Wakko replied in his normal voice, shaking his head solemnly. "I think he's _insane_."

"Crazy!" Dot argued.

"Insane!" countered Wakko.

"Crazy!"

"Insane!"

"Crazy!"

"Insane!"

"SHTOP ITTTTTTT!" Dr. Scratchansniff broke in just as the younger Warners began to tussle violently. He was gripping the sides of his head as though he was in physical pain. "YOU KIDSZES ARE DRIVING _ME_ CRAZY! _UND_ INSZANE!"

Yakko hopped up, swinging his legs around until he was sitting on the countertop, and chucked the hysterical Doctor beneath the chin. "Gee, I thought you'd never guess."

"AAAAARGH!" Scratchy screamed again, tearing at his scalp since he had no hair to rip out. He went crazy very quietly in the corner for a moment, then turned, panting, back to the Warner siblings. "I _juszt_ vant," he huffed, "for you to zsee if you can tell vhere zhis dangerousz zhing _came_ from!"

"Aaaaaw, _that's_ EASY!" Dot giggled, back in her regular skirt and...non-mustached face. She turned to her eldest brother. "C'mon, you tell 'im, Hercule Yakko!"

"Awwwwwww...I _never_ get to tell him," Wakko complained, slumping over. He was ignored, though.

"Gee, Scratchy, I'm _disappointed_ in ya!" Yakko admonished, a comically stern expression on his face. "It's obvious that the contraption came from this very lab!"

_How did Hercule Yakko know that the gizmo originated from the laboratory?_

The laboratory was Acme Labs. Don't tell me Pinky and the Brain would never come up with a machine that would mass-hypnotize people into thinking they were _plants!_


	5. Mixed Up in Translation

**Mixed Up In Translation**

"_¡Ay ay ay!_" Mr. Plotz cried as he finished reading a letter. He dropped the piece of paper, letting it float gently to the floor the way a brick wouldn't have, and jumped out of his seat to start pacing. "¡Esto es muy málo! ¿Qué puedo _hacer?_"

In an instant the door to the CEO's office flew open, showing three shadowy figures standing in the hallway. "SOMOS LOS TERRORES QUIÉN ALETEA EN LA NOCHE—ay, no, todas las personas están abusando de este chiste." The three figures instead strode comically into Mr. Plotz's office, revealing themselves to be—who else?—Wakko, Dot and Hercule Yakko, fully decked-out in clichéd detective clothing. Dot made a beeline for the telephone, Wakko zipped over to Mr. Plotz's lunch and Hercule Yakko went up to Mr. Plotz. However, he didn't actually _stop_ walking, instead managing to walk _up_ the CEO. When he found his furry feet getting cold from the man's bald pate, though, Yakko affected surprise and looked down.

"Aaaaaaaaaaay...lo _siento_, señor Plotz," he apologized impishly, jumping off of Mr. Plotz's head like a professional diver by using the man's nose as a springboard. Landing on his feet in front of the CEO, Hercule Yakko brushed off his long brown coat and adjusted his monocle. "¿Qué pasa, menzo?"

Mr. Plotz took a moment to glare at the eldest Warner, then broke down slightly. "Pues, Hercule Yakko," he began, "tengo un problema. Está—"

"Ya sé el problema," Yakko interrupted, raising an eyebrow sarcastically. "Someone left the Spanish language track on again."

_How did Hercule Yakko...never mind_.


	6. The Faultese Pigeons

**The Fault-ese Pigeons**

Hercule Yakko walked through the park, whistling merrily.

("Secretly I _really_ hate this," he hissed to the readers, "but it provides setting.")

As he turned down a pathway, however, a sharp voice interrupted him. "Hey! Mister Big-Shot detective guy! Oy, down here!"

Yakko blinked, scratching his head underneath his bowler hat, and looked down. Standing on the path in front of him were the three Goodfeathers, Bobbi, Pesto and Squit. Yakko immediately flopped to his stomach on the grass, watching the pigeons. "Wassup?" he asked.

Squit grinned widely, craning his neck to see over Bobbi. "Heeeeeey, NEAT outfit!" he commended, waddling forwards slightly. As soon as he said it, though, Pesto whirled around and jabbed a wing in his chest.

"Hey! Whad'joo mean by dat? D'you mean dat I look messy? Like, next ta' HIM I look like 'Weird Al' Yankovic? Dat you're ashamed ta' be seen wit' a slob like ME, wit' an—an ACCORDION in my hands? Is DAT what'cher sayin'?!?"

Squit backed away, both wings extended in denial. "No, no Pesto, that _ain't_ what I'm sayin'! I'm just sayin' that he—"

"DAT'S IT!" Pesto interrupted, and tackled the gray-brown pigeon to the ground, pummeling him as much as possible. Yakko arched an eyebrow, resting his chin in one hand, and, looking at Bobbi, jerked a thumb at Pesto—or, more accurately, the cloud of dust the scrap was kicking up.

"I think you should cancel his anger management classes," Yakko commented. "Aaaaah...they're not exactly working out."

"Boy does I know it," Bobbi muttered, then lifted a green wing to the detective. "Oy, anyways, we's got a problem. See, we're pigeons, an' Goodfeathers at dat. So we gets our food at dis soitin place. But dat 'soitin place'...its trash ain't been up ta' snuff lately." The pigeon's narrowed eyes widened a slit at Yakko. "So, we's wanna know if da _sparrows_'ve been pinchin' our STUFF, y'know what I mean?"

"Ah-hah, ah-hah." Yakko nodded vigorously, making his ears flop, and made an impossibly gymnastic flip back to his feet and brushed off his pants. He cocked an eyebrow at Bobbi, then grinned lopsidedly and made a shooting motion at the pigeon with one of his hands. "Ehhh, dun'worry 'boutit," he said in an obvious parody of the bird's voice. "Jeff's Groc'ry Store ain't shortin' youse. Thu' owner's just on a liddle health kick."

_How did Hercule Yakko know that? And how did he know that the "Soitin Place" was Jeff's Grocery Store?_

Right behind Bobbi, Pesto had been whacking Squit with a can of parsnip soda. It was common knowledge to all who rode unicycles in the vicinity of Jeff's store (Yakko, of course, included) that Jeff had ordered a metric ton of just that delicacy. Jeff himself, as Yakko had learned through his sister, had also been seen many times around town stuffing his face with Twinkies™ and muttering "One last time..."


	7. Dial S for Slappy

**Dial "S" for Slappy**

Skippy Squirrel looked up at his aunt with ridiculously-exaggerated Bambi eyes, his lower lip quivering slightly. "Please don't be mad at me, Aunt Slappy," he begged the old gray squirrel, tugging on some of her fur. "It's j-just that, you've been fergetting things an', an' losin' 'em, an' stuff, an' they said they'd help you, an'—"

"_Skippyyyyyy_—" Slappy interrupted ominously, but another look at Skippy's expression made her shake her head and groan. "Jeez, kid, that look'd melt Bin Laden!" she griped, then firmly released his hands from her side. "A'right, a'RIGHT a'ready! I'll let 'em come IN!"

"Yaaaaaaay!!!" Skippy cheered, oblivious to the irritated look he was getting from his aunt, and pranced over to the door to Slappy's treehouse. (TREEHOUSE! 'Cus it's a tree, an' it's a HOUSE! 'At's a joke, son! Ah made a funny! Aheh...heh...ah, whaddever.) "C'mon in!" he chirped to someone outside.

As should be no surprise by now, in marched the three Warner siblings, all in descending height with Yakko wearing his Hercule Yakko getup. "Aaaaaaah, Miz Slappy," he drawled in an affected Belgian accent, "I hear that you haff a casze for m..."

He trailed off, seeing Slappy's venomous expression, and instead smiled weakly. "Um, n-nice place you got here."

"Get on wi' it," Slappy grumbled, plopping herself in an armchair and crossing her arms tightly. "_The Beverly Hillbillies_ comes on in ten minutes." At this, though, she let slip a chuckle. "Eh heh heh...ah, dat Irene Ryan's a card. We went ta' preschool together, y'know."

"Sounds fascinating," Dot stated flatly, her eyes lidded. Bad memories of Pip, most likely.

"Indeed, indeed!" Hercule Yakko concurred, nodding vigorously. He had enough sense to know not to get on Slappy's bad side. "Siddown, sibs." Wakko and Dot immediately dropped onto a nearby couch while Yakko paced before Slappy. "Now, Slap—aaaahhhhhhhh, Ms. Squirrel. Your nephew said that you'd lost something. (Certainly not your sanity, though, I might add!) Would you mind telling me what it—"

However, Yakko was soon cut off by a groan from Wakko, who was gookieing (hooray for new words!) painfully from his seat on the couch and rubbing his bottom. Hercule Yakko flexed his eyebrows at his distressed sibling, then knocked his bowler hat to one side and whipped back to Slappy Squirrel. "Ehhhhhhh...never mind," he stated, his long black tail twitching slightly. "It appears that Wakko has _already_ found your dentures."

_How did Hercule Yakko know that Slappy had lost her dentures, and that Wakko had just found them?_

Just make a picture in your mind. Didn't they do something like this on _The Three Stooges_ once?


	8. The Meal And Mr Chicken

**The Meal and Mr. Chicken**

"LACKEY!!!" Dot Warner shouted at the top of her lungs, an annoyed yet delighted expression on her face. She was sitting up in bed, still in her pajamas, and had both hands on her hips. "_LACKEY!!_"

Within moments Wakko had scampered into the room, severely out of breath. Instead of his usual attire, he was dressed in a clown suit (though the fact scared him to death) with a propeller beanie on his head and an apron around his waist. He panted for a few minutes, tongue lolling so far that it almost hit the floor, then straightened up and saluted. "Whaddisit, m'lady?" he asked in a monotone.

Dot clucked her tongue, wagging her finger and smiling deviously. "Put some _enthusiasm_ in it..." she encouraged him.

"YES, M'LADY?" Wakko shot off, louder than necessary. He made a whimpering noise in the back of his throat.

"Good." Dot beamed perkily at him. "Now, where's my breakfast?"

With a groan, Wakko reached into his pocket and pulled out a full-fledged banquet table, plunking it down in front of Dot. With a squeal of delight, Dot rubbed her hands and started chowing, ignoring the heart-breakingly pleading expression on Wakko's face. At last, though, Wakko couldn't stand it any more and fell to his knees before her.

"PLEEEEEEEEEEEEASE, Dot! I can't _take_ it! Just tell me! _PLEEEEEEEEEEEEASE!_"

"What's this?" Hercule Yakko inquired, pausing outside the bedroom on his way to the kitchen. One look at Dot and Wakko, though, and a sly grin crept across his face. "Aaaaaaah, lay off yer brother, _Dottie_. Just give 'im back his Don Knotts videos."

_How did Hercule Yakko know that Dot had hidden Wakko's Don Knotts videos?_

Easily; that was the only way Dot could've gotten her brother to serve her hand and foot. Only the dubious absence of _The Shakiest Gun in the West_ would make Wakko serve someone ELSE a meal of that size.


	9. Diagnose It Again, Sam

**Diagnose it Again, Sam**

In Dr. Scratchansniff's office, a clearly agitated Mr. Plotz was lying on his back on the psychiatrist's couch. Scratchy himself was scribbling furiously on a pad of paper while his employer spoke.

"I—I don't know what it is, Doctor!" the balding man agonized, mopping his forehead with a white handkerchief. "It's just so—so _sudden!_ I've never felt quite like this, I—I don't—what does it mean, Doctor?"

"Hm?" Dr. Scratchansniff inquired politely, then literally jumped in surprise and threw his notepad in the air, scrambling furiously to catch it. (If you had very good eyesight and amazing reflexes, you'd be able to see the pages covered with stick figure drawings of Mr. Plotz with a pitchfork, goatee and devil horns.) "Oh—oh yesz, your problem! I—i-indeed, I _vas_ listzening, I, eh, merely, eh, vant you to deszcribe it to me again in _your own wordsz!_"

"Well," Mr. Plotz started again, too worried to notice the doctor's lie, "it's—I've been having this feeling recently, like—like we're not _alone_ out there! L-like there's some..._audience_ watching our every move, even though we can't _see_ them!" In a sudden spasm, the CEO jolted upright and tore at his hair while his eyes widened in nervous anxiety. "And—and even worse, Doctor, I...I feel like I'm not even in control of my own—m-my own _actions!_ As if someone else is d-dictating my every thought, planning my ev-ev-every move for me!"

"_Veeeeery innnnteresztingk_." Dr. Scratchansniff nodded vigorously, hoping to conceal the fact that he _still_ hadn't been paying attention. He tapped his notepad with his pencil, trying to think up a quick diagnosis. "Vell, you szeem to—"

"BEEP BEEP! COMIN' THROUGH!"

At that moment a taxicab exploded out of the ventilation ducts, all four wheels spinning as its driver slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt in front of the couch. The door flew open and Hercule Yakko jumped out, managing to land neatly in Scratchy's arms and give the doctor an impish peck on the cheek at the same time. "Hiya, Scratchy! Hiya, Plotzy!" he grinned brightly, waving cheerily.

"AAAAAAAIEE!" Scratchy screamed belatedly, dropping Yakko. The detectiveishly-attired Warner didn't even seem to notice, landing on his feet and brushing his coat off nonchalantly.

"Y'might wanna have the maid take care of that," commented Hercule Yakko, jerking a thumb at the auto wreckage directly behind him. Then he put a gloved hand to the side of his face and "Tsk tsk"ed sadly. "Some people just do _not_ know how to maintain their living space." As Scratchansniff and Mr. Plotz were still incapable of speech, Yakko arched an eyebrow meaningfully at the CEO. "Oh, an' Plotzy? Y'might be getting those feelings 'cus you're in a fanfiction."

_How did Hercule Yakko know that they were all in a fanfic?_

"Hello, operator? Get me the Crazy Shack. ...Yep, it's pretty bad. There's a huge group of people here that don't know that they're reading a fanfiction!"


	10. The Grim Man

**The Grim Man**

Mindy's bottom lip quivered as she looked from the lollipop in her hand to the short, balding man who had given it to her. Then, at last, she burst into tears of terror and ran off to find her dog.

Mr. Plotz just continued cheerfully on his way, handing out wads of cash to every adult he ran into and rummaging through a scarily large bag of candy whenever a child crossed his path. Wherever he walked, he was followed by screams of confusion and fear, but he kept whistling merrily and giving out the money and sweets.

At long last, a large brown dog with pointed features arrived on the scene, his mouth clutching Yakko's long coat as he tugged the (in)famous detective along behind him. Once they intercepted Mr. Plotz, Buttons let go of the coat and instead began whining, indicating Mr. Plotz with his nose.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah..._I_ see the problem here," stated Hercule Yakko, patting the terrified Buttons as he squinted at a poster for _Tiny Toons_ DVDs. "Warner execs haven't gained enough intelligence to see the _marketing_ possibilities of these yet."

Tearing down the wishful poster, Yakko turned back Mr. Plotz, then calmly walked up to him and rapped sharply on the CEO's head as if he was knocking at the door. "Oh PLOOOOOOOOOTZY!" he called encouragingly. "Wake up! Your mother's breakfast is gonna get cold!"

_How did Hercule Yakko know that Mr. Plotz was sleepwalking?_

Aside from the fact that it was midnight, Mr. Plotz had often complained of having nightmares where he was—_shudder_—GENEROUS. Also, he was wearing pajamas.


	11. His Last Bow ONSTAGE

_Based (somewhat loosely, I confess) on a suggestion put forth by Anna McNarin._

**His Last Bow...ONSTAGE.**

"LOOK LIVELY OVER THERE!!" Daffy Duck snapped, shaking his fist at various costumed toons milling about the stage area. "YOU! You're _th_suppos_th_ed to be REHEAR_TH_SING! An' YOU'RE _th_suppos_th_ed to be making my filet mignon! DON'T YOU KNOW _ANYTHING?!?_ **YOU ALL MAKE ME **_**TH**_**SICK!**"

Hercule Yakko, who was standing behind the duck, grinned and leaned against the wall. "I just _loooooove_ your people skills."

Daffy Duck sniffed imperially, preening himself. "Thanks_th_," he li_th_sped, then pulled a large poster out from behind his back and unrolled it for the detective. "Now look, _Mon_th_sieur_ Yakko, I've got troubles_th_. No, no, not that fifty-foot-high letters_th_ are nowhere NEAR big enough for my name in the advertis_th_ements_th_—I've already gone to the director about THAT, and he's_th_ gonna be hearin' from my AGENT if they're not a _hundred_ feet high by tongiht's_th_ performanc_th_e. Do you know what the problem is_th_, bub?"

The question was met with complete silence, as Hercule Yakko was in no condition to answer it at that moment. Instead, he was bent-over and hyperventilating over the poster, which, although having Daffy's head taking up a good 7/8ths of its immense size, had a remaining 1/8th filled with skimpily dressed chorus girls.

"Aaaaahh...y'know, Daf," Yakko panted, his nose pressed up against the pinup, "I think you just sold out the front row, balcony _and_ stage wings for every performance you're doin'."

Poking his bill over the top of the poster and realizing what Hercule Yakko was talking about, Daffy annoyedly folded it up and tucked it away—though not before the great detective had snapped a couple hundred pictures with a camera handily stored inside his long coat. "THAT'S_TH_ THE PROBLEM!!" Daffy cried, getting right in Hercule Yakko's face. "There's_th_ not gonna BE any performan_th_ces_th_!"

Yakko stopped salivating immediately, his eyes widening to a ridiculous size in horror. "NO _PERFORMANCES?_"

Daffy waved his arms about frantically. "That's_th_ RIGHT! All the chorus_th_ girls_th_ are miss_th_ing! And I need _you_ to fi—"

He found himself addressing a puff of Yakko-shaped smoke, as the great detective had already sprinted off in hot pursuit.

Hercule Yakko had dashed clear across Hollywood and back seven times when he finally stopped for breath, deciding that he'd just wasted two whole minutes he could've used to find the chorus girls. He thought hard, brow furrowed, then, his face lighting up in sudden elation, Yakko snapped his fingers and took off again. Soon enough he was outside a rabbit hole at the edge of town, rapping his knuckles on the dirt around the entrance. "Hey Bugsy, lemme in that game a' strip poker or I'm tellin' Loooooooo-laaaaaaaaa!!"

_How did Hercule Yakko know that the chorus girls were with Bugs Bunny?_

Bugs is Daffy's biggest rival, and what better way to aggravate your rival than to steal the chorus girls for his big act? (And besides, who _wouldn't_ rather spend an evening with Bugs than listen to Daf praising himself in song?)


End file.
